February, 2007

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I’m very down, right now. Last night went badly: little sleep and nightmares. I feel like I’m slowly slipping off the face of the earth, like everything tying me down is gone, and I’m going to float away. I feel like a middle thing, not really important or needed. Just there, for fun, if needed. Today I have spent most of the day very down, in this new, dull sort of way. This drifting away sort of way.

I’m concerned about my weight. I thought I was finally steadying out, but judging by the surprising bagginess of the jeans I pulled on this morning, apparently not. These are the jeans I had to buy in December to replace the ones I bought in August. I’m scared to look at the August jeans now, they must be absolutely huge in comparison if these jeans are getting too big. I don’t want to see how much weight I’ve lost like that. The scary thing is, I’m actively trying to gain back some weight. Oh well.

I don’t know. I’m tired of life. The future seems like a big empty nothing. Except maybe some pain. I still feel full of self-hate, perhaps even in increasing amounts. I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I didn’t let you get away with it this time as you hoped I would. I’m sorry I always let you get away with anything in the past. I’m sorry I helped you believe that everything is forgivable and true hurt is never caused by your misactions. Especially not true hurt you yourself will have to feel. I’m sorry I never held your feet to the fire and made you learn that some things aren’t forgivable, and so shouldn’t be done. I’m sorry I let you scare me into keeping all your secrets all the time.

But don’t worry. I’m sure in your future there are many girls who will be led in, and who will let you get away with murder, just as I did so often. So you won’t ever have to really learn.

I’m trying to bother certain people as little possible… but it’s hard, the temptation is strong. But it’s part of what I get of this, and I must accept it.

I’ve caused a lot of pain in the past two days. A lot of hurt. For once in my life, I know it’s not completely my fault. I did take my part in it, yes, and I am partially responsible, but I did not act alone. This idea grinds against my mentality, though. It’s funny – when I was young, they gave me so much therapy so I wouldn’t believe that my parent’s divorce was my fault, even though I never did. No… instead I believe every other evil in the world is my fault.

Even if the actions were not done alone, I did decide to speak out. I know that I probably could have left it all alone, let it slide away, hope it disappeared. Hope that it stopped eating away and my brain, burning me inside. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Knowing this, I hurt – for causing so much hurt. It’s probably a good thing I can’t go back and undo things, because I’m weak, and I despise myself for causing pain, even if it was not all my fault, and I want to make that feeling go away. I know that, in words, I probably did the right thing. And it doesn’t burn me inside anymore. No, now I have the pain of others and the pain of loss to do that.

The part that stops me short of damning myself completely is one small thing: that this other participant’s anger is less at me speaking out, and more at me speaking out with hard proof. I discover the plan was to cast me as insane, as blowing things out of proportion, as not being quite in my right mind. And by bringing proof, I destroyed that plan. That hurts. It’s ok to fuck with the crazy girl cuz nobody will believe her anyway, right?

Right now I feel empty. I’m hurting, quite a lot. I don’t know what the future is, what it holds. My mind stops short of thinking any further than tomorrow. I’ve taken a tough action, accepted my punishment, and suffered deep loss. My only comfort is that I’m clean again. No more evils inside me, except the ones that always reside within.

It made me cry, because it was kind contact I did not expect at all. And it is appreciated very much… But it’s too far away now, I’m sorry…

Apparently there was confusion: last night I drove around the metroplex for a long time. I guess to see what would happen. Tried some of those things you always wonder about when driving, but nothing happened. Nothing happened. My desires did not change, I did not calm. So I came back, which I said I would do. I couldn’t do anything last night but drive or sit, you see, because all the stores were closed. So I had to hang around until today. No school for me today, of course, because there’s no point.

For those of you curious, I plan to go to orchestra practice tonight, because I enjoy my violin a smidgen still. And there’s no rush, I have plenty of time.

Crazy Calm, Crazy Calm. Tears and screams. Blood and pain. Oh yes, and yes. Give me all the pain, give it to me. Life your life happily, You will find out how much I can take. The answer is no, I cannot. Blood blood blood. This is too much, and I am too far gone, now. I know my answers are crazy, my reasoning mad, my actions insane. I know you all disagree, shake your heads, shake your heads in disapproval. But there’s a way out and I’m taking it. I was perhaps making do with one, perhaps I could have made do with the other. But both? no no no. I’m too far gone, you see. You will not miss me. You will not. You may think so, but it’s a falsity. I tried, I did. Every time I started to pull myself up, another blow came and knocked me down. Every time I felt a reason to perhaps rally once more, another blow came. I’m tired of this, and I have no strength nor mental capacity to do anything else. Stupid, I know, yes, very stupid. But I will care little for your cries of calling me stupid when I’m floated away on a cloud, and I hurt no more.

You cannot imagine with what hope I look forward to painlessness. I only first must clear up a few last sad drops of hellos and apologies.

Tonight there is no sleep, for I will drive and drive, and see how far I can go in one night. But I will come back, for driving alone is nothing but to pass the time. And action must be taken! Oh I shiver. But not in fear.

I just had the worst dream of my life. And I’m not exaggerating to say that – God I wish I was. I awoke from it with tears streaming down my face, screams ripping from my throat, and my teeth clamped onto my pillow, which I was holding down with my arms and trying to rip apart with my mouth. A humorous picture for all of you, I’m sure, but not for me. Even now I’m crying still, and shaking from the memory. My own mind is turning against me, and I’m writing this to distract myself from the other types of distraction I long to dole out on myself in hopes of forcing my mind to seperate from my body. How do you put such distress into words? I cannot hope to succeed. All I can speak of is the utmost horror and pain I feel right now, and the desire to inflict some terrible punishment upon myself, and thus my mind, to drive it away for good. I’m deperate for something, anything.

Unlike most dreams, I am no calmer than when I first awoke, and I do not see calmness coming anytime soon. Oh God, end this please. End this please. I’m hostage to myself… and I hate myself.

Aren’t you all glad I shut up over the weekend? Hope you all enjoyed it.

I can’t seem to learn the lesson that any sign that the pain might lesson for any reason at all is completely false, and I shouldn’t change my plans for it, because it will fail, and I will be knocked down from whatever upwards step I’ve reached for. And back to the pain. Where I must learn to re-adjust all over again. Which just hurts more.

Last night I spent the majority of the night lying in my bed staring up at my dark ceiling and crying. Horrible, horrible thoughts would not leave my head. So I spent hours and hours lying on my back in tears and being ripped to shreds by my own mind. The few hours I did drift off I had some of the worst nightmares I’ve had yet, and soon woke up, crying.

Look, it’s not getting better. Everyone tells me to just ‘hang in there,’ because things must get better. Well, there’s an exception to every rule, and the exception seems to be me. Even now, when it seems things could not get much worse, they manage somehow.

I had two days where I felt ok. Two days where I didn’t feel rising hate (or at least not so strongly) when I passed a mirror, two days where I didn’t want to die, two days when my mood was not utterly hopeless. But it was just another way of things getting worse. A reminder of what I’m not getting, what my life isn’t. And then plunged back into the darkness, now with an all-the-more-clear picture of just how miserable I am. And that just makes it worse.

I hate myself, I hate who I am. I’m not the Emma most of you became friends with long ago. She’s just gone. I can tell you the story of how she’s slowly died over the past few years, but it would be ruled false I’m sure, and what I deserved. What matters is that she’s completely gone now. All those traits are no longer there. If you are thinking back and objecting, you’re wrong. It’s called a faÃ§ade. I can still imitate, to a point, who I once was, but it’s nothing but empty words because I feel bad for those who have to be around me, and don’t want to subject them to the blackness I feel all the time. I’m ashamed of who I am now, and I feel I’m shaming the memory of the Emma that once was. I know that when people tell me that they like me, that they’d miss me, and all that, they’re talking about the old Emma, or the faÃ§ade, and it hurts, because that’s not really me anymore.

I’m drained. I’m tired. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of lack of happiness. I’m tired of ‘hanging in there’ only for things to get worse. I’m tired of being reminded of how swimmingly it seems everyone else’s lives are going. It’s an exhaustion I don’t expect anyone to understand. I’m ready to quit. All that did matter is broken, desecrated, or taken away. I’m not strong enough to sit and be ok while all of this goes on. It hurts too much, and it has hurt too long.

Last weekend I gave the world a second chance after I had planned not to come back. And for those two days it seemed like maybe it was worth it, even if for all the wrong reasons. From what people tell me, staying alive for the wrong reasons is still better than dying. But it all comes crashing down, and now I just want the weekend to come again, but for all the wrong reasons. I gave it a week, I gave it a chance, and I got a taste of happiness, then a slap in the face and a chorus of mocking laughs.

I don’t really understand why people get so upset about me going away. Your lives will go on, the good things will continue, you will still reach your goals and have your loves, you will move on. Life will still be good for you, so why be upset? I honestly don’t comprehend…

You fool, why are you still here? What tiny hope do you yet cling to in that pulpy mess that used to be a heart? Let go, you idiot. There is no hope. Accept the truth. Accept that happiness is not coming, that good things are not going to happen. Just let go and give up. Why can’t you do it yet? It’s been long enough. You hurt and you cry, but you won’t take care of it all. You’re still too damn scared. Look, you’ve been over this a hundred times before. It hurts too much. There’s a limit to how many tears and how much pain anyone can suffer – why won’t you just reach it and die. But I see those tiny tapes of wavering hope you play in the dark nights to help yourself fall to unconsciousness. I see the lies you tell yourself to trick your brain into thinking there’s something worth waiting around for. What?! What is it?! Nothing! Give it up, bitch. You’re alone in your pain – everyone else got their happy ending. And that’s not going to change. The dice have been rolled, the cards are down, the votes are in, and you lose. Hope will only get you hurt. Everything will only get you hurt. Look at the past – draw your conclusions right there. After three months of shit in your face you really think tomorrow you’re suddenly going to get rainbows and puppies? Ok, so let’s say things are going to get better. When exactly? A year? Five years? Oh, well then. Only an eternity of pain between now and then. And exactly how? What could this world give you that would make you feel better? Nothing you give yourself makes you feel better. Nothing anyone else can offer makes you feel better. You’re broken, Goddamnit – just fuck off. You’re making everyone miserable. Give up the minuscule drops of hope that only guarantee you more hurt when they too fail. And they will fail. They always do. And you know this.

I am Emma. I am a dual-citizen: half British and half American - but I was born in Norway. I love potatoes and purple. I'm shy, but not. I work on computers, bikes, and DNA, and I play violin. Here is the story of a transplant from Texas to Scotland...